


Running on Empty

by enigmaticblue



Category: Captain America, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is always hungry. (Or the care and feeding of one Steve Rogers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running on Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "hunger/starvation".

**1.**

 

“Take this,” Bucky insists as he drops into the seat next to Steve at the long table, holding out a slice of bread spread thinly with butter. The dining room is still full of children, most of them taking their time with their meager dinners. “You need it more than I do.”

 

Steve shakes his head stubbornly even though his stomach is still growling after eating a bowl of soup and the one piece of bread they’re allowed. “I’m fine, Buck. Don’t worry about me.”

 

“I’ll worry about you if I feel like it,” Bucky replies hotly, shoving the bread toward him again, the tattered cuff of his blue shirt ending a couple of inches above his thin wrist. “If you don’t get more meat on your bones, you’ll get sick again, Steve.”

 

“Then I get sick,” Steve insists. “You’re bigger than me anyway. You need more food.”

 

At fourteen, Bucky’s six months older than Steve, and he’d just shot up three inches, causing Sister Bridget to sigh and shake her head, because the hems couldn’t be let out of Bucky’s clothes anymore, and the orphanage is as short on clothing as it is on food most of the time.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m bigger than you, which means you oughta do what I say, Rogers, and if you don’t eat it, I’ll throw it away.”

 

Steve looks at him, alarmed. “That’ll get you switched for sure! You don’t throw food away.”

 

Bucky holds out the piece of bread with a smirk. “So, you eat it, or I get switched. You’re a smart guy; it should be a no brainer.”

 

“I’ll split it with you,” Steve bargains.

 

“No can do,” Bucky replies. “You eat it all, or it goes in the trash.”

 

“Anybody ever tell you you’re stubborn as a mule?” Steve complains, taking the bread.

 

Bucky digs an elbow into Steve’s ribs. “Sister Bernadette, just yesterday,” he replies with a grin. “And look who’s talkin’.”

 

Steve tries to eat slowly, because it’s not often he gets a second helping of anything. “Thanks, Bucky.”

 

“I told you, Steve,” Bucky says, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “You stick with me, and I’ll look after you.”

 

Steve ducks his head. He’s still not sure why Bucky decided to take him under his wing, but with him, Steve feels like he belongs somewhere for the first time since his mom died.

 

He might be an orphan, but Steve isn’t without family.

 

**2.**

 

Dr. Erskine had warned Steve that his metabolism would be faster due to the serum, but Steve hadn’t realized the implications. Maybe if Erskine had survived, it wouldn’t have been so bad—he would have known how hungry Steve would be all the time, and Steve figures he probably would have made sure Steve got what he needed.

 

In all honesty, Steve hadn’t figured on being hungry after joining the army, but he is, and it’s worse than it was before the serum. These days, he never feels like he’s got enough to eat.

 

Steve knows he’s not going to starve to death, but what he’s getting is barely enough to dull the edge of his hunger, even now that he’s on tour. And maybe he could say something to the folks in charge, but Steve doesn’t feel like he’s doing enough for the war effort as it is, running around on stage in a costume while there are guys dying on the front lines every day.

 

He takes a deep breath of the cool fall air and glances up at the gray skies that seem to reflect his mood. They’re somewhere in Georgia today, but he couldn’t say where; all the towns seem to bleed together into an endless stream of faces and bright music and sharp, biting hunger.

 

Steve’s shoulders slump, and he stares down at the rough wooden steps leading up to the backstage door.

 

The door squeaks as it opens, and Sally slips outside, an overcoat covering up her stage costume. Her blue eyes, blonde hair, and ability to dance had netted her a spot as a chorus girl, and while she’s sweet, he wouldn’t call her pretty.

 

“Here,” Sally says as she sits down next to him. She holds out a sandwich wrapped in paper. “It’s not much, but you look like you could use it.”

 

Steve holds up a hand. “I’m okay. You should eat it.”

 

“I got it for you,” Sally insists, her blue eyes searching his face. “You had the same look on your face that my brothers had when they were still hungry after a meal and knew better than to ask for a second helping.”

 

Steve flushes. “That obvious, huh?”

 

He’s comfortable with Sally, maybe because she’s head over heels for a guy in the Navy, and she’s always treated him like a brother. She looks out for him, and runs interference with the other girls who show a little more than friendly interest.

 

“Only to me,” she assures him. “Like I said, I’ve got brothers, and every one of them is your size, and I’d swear they all have hollow legs.”

 

Steve decides he can’t argue with her and takes the sandwich she’s offering. It’s bologna on white bread with a bit of spicy mustard, and he eats it slowly, savoring every bite. “This is terrific, Sally. Thanks.”

 

Sally pats him on the shoulder, and her dimples flash as she smiles. “I should be the one thanking you. It’s nice to have somebody to look after.”

 

Steve clears his throat. “Where are your brothers?”

 

Sally’s lower lip trembles, and she looks away. “God knows, because I don’t.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve offers, feeling that same terrible guilt that he’s here and safe and other guys aren’t. “I should be—”

 

“Don’t,” she says sharply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not sorry you’re here, and you shouldn’t be either.” She presses an apple into his hand. “I hate apples. You eat mine.”

 

She leaves him, and Steve stares down at the piece of fruit in his hand. It’s bruised and a little shriveled, but it’s food, and it’s been a long time since Steve had someone looking out for him like this—not since Bucky had left for the front.

 

He still aches to be on the front lines, where he could do some real good, but he has to be happy with what he’s doing for the war efforts here.

 

Steve doesn’t have a choice.

 

**3.**

 

Steve crouches down on the hard packed earth, spreading the map out in front of him, trying to take advantage of the thin sunlight streaming in from the narrow window overhead. They’re deep behind enemy lines in occupied France, taking out a string of HYDRA outposts, and then disappearing back into the countryside, and they’d been lucky to find a deserted farmstead. The old stone barn had been empty save for a few piles of hay, and would give them a little better cover from the enemy.

 

Steve might actually sleep for more than fifteen minutes tonight.

 

He’s trying to figure out whether they should head for the next Hydra base, or go back to base, when Bucky and Dugan dump their spoils from the last raid in front of Steve with triumphant smiles. “Looks like we’ll be eating good tonight, Cap,” Dugan says.

 

Steve looks over the stores of tinned sardines, potatoes, apples, and coffee. They’ve been on short rations for the last week, and Steve has forgotten what it’s like to be satisfied, if he ever knew.

 

“Good job,” Steve says. “Make sure it’s fairly distributed among the men.” He’d do it, but Steve isn’t sure he trusts himself not to hold a little more back for himself, he’s so hungry right now.

 

“We’ll take care of it,” Dugan replies, tipping his hat back, still grinning. “That coffee certainly won’t go amiss.”

 

Bucky gives Steve a sharp look, but Steve refuses to meet his eyes, afraid Bucky will see too much. “Thanks,” he says, and goes back to staring at the map, although he’s not sure how much he’s taking in.

 

Steve drinks from his canteen, hoping the water will help stifle the hunger pangs in his gut. It’s a false hope, but it’s all he’s got right now.

 

“Hey. Steve.” Bucky materializes at his side. “I’ve got your share.”

 

Judging by the number of cans in Bucky’s arms, it’s more than Steve’s share, it’s Bucky’s, too.

 

“You can’t give me your food, too, Buck. I can do without a lot better than you or anybody else in this unit,” Steve protests in a low voice.

 

Bucky snorts. “Don’t be stupid, Rogers. We got more food than we can eat, and more than we can carry, and you can use the calories. Eat what you can, and if there’s anything left over, we’ll try to carry it out.”

 

Steve shakes his head. “You’re always looking out for me, Buck.”

 

“Someone has to,” Bucky replies, bumping his shoulder. “Everybody else might see Captain America; I see Steve Rogers. And you _never_ got enough to eat.”

 

“The serum didn’t help that,” Steve admits. “It made it worse.”

 

Bucky grips his shoulder and jostles him. “I’ve got your back, Cap. We all do. So, eat up. This might be your last chance to feel really full for a while.”

 

“What would I do without you?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky gives him a sly grin in return. “Let’s hope you never have to find out, huh?”

 

**4.**

 

The muddy ground sucks at Steve’s boots as he makes his way through camp towards the tent serving as Colonel Phillips’ office. The cold wind finds every inch of bare skin, although Steve doesn’t feel temperature changes now the way he used to; still, he feels a deep chill that had begun with Bucky’s death, and he hasn’t been able to shake.

 

Steve ducks under the rough green canvas flap that serves as a door and stands at attention across from Phillips’ desk. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

 

“Here.” Phillips nudges an extra package of rations across his desk towards Steve. “You forgot to pick this up.”

 

Steve frowns. “I’ve been drawing my rations.”

 

“Not all of them. From now on, you get double,” Phillips replies. “At least as long as they’re available.”

 

Steve stiffens. “Sir, I don’t want any special treatment.”

 

“Well, too bad,” Phillips says. “You’re one of a kind, Rogers, and I am not unaware of what Erskine said about your metabolism. You need more calories to function at optimum levels, and you’re going to get them.”

 

Steve opens his mouth to protest, and Phillips cuts him off. “Don’t argue with me, soldier. Just eat your damn rations.”

 

Steve nods and executes a sharp salute. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Better,” Phillips replies. “Now, get out of here. You’ve got a mission in the morning.”

 

Steve ducks back through the doorway, hanging onto his extra rations and wondering who told Phillips he needed more food. When Bucky had been alive, he’d slipped Steve extra when he could, especially after he knew about Steve’s faster metabolism.

 

Bucky had always looked after Steve, even after Steve didn’t need him to anymore.

 

Steve halts a few feet away from Phillips’ tent, uncertain of where to go, too caught up in memories and grief to know where he should be right at this moment.

 

“Captain Rogers?”

 

Steve realizes that he’s been staring at the package, unmoving, for far too long, and Peggy is calling him. “Oh, uh, hi, Agent Carter.”

 

“I see you’ve been to see Colonel Phillips,” she says, over Steve’s shoulder at Phillips’ tent, just a few feet away.

 

Steve glances down at the package. “I have, but—” The realization hits him. “You told him.”

 

“I read Dr. Erskine’s notes,” Peggy replies. “And I remember what you’d said about not being able to get drunk. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

 

“Thanks for this,” Steve says, the warmth in his chest chasing away the cold of grief and regret.

 

Peggy smiles and touches Steve’s arm. “Someone has to look out for you.”

 

Steve blinks, and looks away, momentarily unable to reply.

 

She gives his arm a pat and moves on, and Steve takes a deep breath, comforted by the idea that someone is still looking out for him now that Bucky’s gone.

 

**5.**

 

Steve collapses onto one of the benches in the back of the Quinjet, his stomach so empty he feels nauseous. He has no idea how long the battle with the Doombots had lasted, but he hadn’t had the chance to eat breakfast that morning, and the angle of the sun suggests that it’s well after noon.

 

And it’s going to be hours at least before they’re done with the debriefing and he can get something to eat. He closes his eyes and wills away the stomach pangs.

 

“Hey, Cap. Heads up,” Tony says.

 

He opens his eyes just in time to see the cellophane wrapped bar hit him right between the eyes.

 

“I did warn you,” Tony says unrepentantly, his helmet sitting next to him on the bench on the opposite side of the Quinjet. “Eat up.”

 

Steve picks it up off the floor and turns it over in his hands. “What is it?”

 

“Nutrient-dense energy bar,” Tony explains, leaning back, his legs stretched out in front of him. “Bruce’s recipe.”

 

Steve glances at Bruce, who is sitting next to Tony, wearing the change of clothes they always keep stored on the Quinjet. Bruce’s mouth is already full, and he’s chowing down as quickly as he can.

 

“I don’t understand,” Steve says.

 

“You need—what? Four times the number of calories of your typical man?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce manages to swallow. “I’m so fucking hungry after a transformation, and Fury always wants to debrief us,” he explains between bites. “I came up with a solution.”

 

“We’ll get some real food after we’re done at SHIELD, but this should hold you over for now,” Tony explains, and hands Bruce a second one. “Here, eat up.”

 

“Did you bring enough to share with the rest of us?” Natasha asks from the co-pilot’s seat.

 

Tony tosses one to her, and Clint complains, “What about me?”

 

“Both hands on the controls, Katniss,” Tony replies, but he tosses another bar to Natasha. “Eat up, Cap. It’s not going to do you any good sitting in your hand.”

 

Bruce is already starting in on his second bar, and Steve shrugs, unwrapping it and taking a bite. It’s almost too sweet and very chewy, and the first bite sits like lead in his stomach, but he keeps eating.

 

The hunger hits him after he finishes the first bar, and then he tears open the next one and devours it.

 

“I say we go for cheeseburgers after this,” Tony suggests, chewing slowly. “Anybody else?”

 

“New rule,” Clint announces. “We don’t talk about food after a mission and before a debriefing, especially if the pilot can’t eat.”

 

Natasha breaks off a piece of her bar and shoves it into Clint’s mouth.

 

“Come on, we’re making plans here!” Tony protests and bumps Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “I don’t care. And I think it’s Steve’s turn to pick.”

 

“A burger sounds good,” Steve admits as he finishes off the second one. “But not that fast food crap. A _real_ cheeseburger.”

 

“Diner food I can do,” Tony promises. “Everybody else okay with that?”

 

“Don’t talk about food before we can eat it,” Clint exclaims. “Seriously, Stark.”

 

Tony grins. “Cheeseburgers are a go.”

 

“Tasha,” Clint complains.

 

She shoves another bite into his mouth. “This is good, Bruce,” she says.

 

Bruce shrugs, looking a little more relaxed now that he’s finished. “I figured I was hungry enough after a battle that everybody else would be, too. How are you doing, Steve?”

 

Steve’s stomach has stopped shouting at him, and he’s sore, but definitely feeling better. “Do you have that recipe?” he asks.

 

Bruce smiles. “Yeah, but I don’t mind making enough for everybody.”

 

Steve glances around the interior of the Quinjet at these people who seem to have his back in unexpected ways.

 

For the first time in a long time, Steve feels like he’s in good hands. “Thanks,” Steve says sincerely.

 

“Any time,” Bruce replies sincerely. “I’ve got more if you want it, Steve.”

 

Steve shakes his head. “No, I’m good.”

 

And that’s nothing but the truth.


End file.
